_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._ _Lady Fan._ Well, _Madamoiselle_, did you dog the filthy Things? Madam. _O que ouy, Madame._ _Lady Fan._ And where are they? Madam. _Au Logis._ _Lady Fan._ What, Men and all? Madam. _Tous ensemble._ _Lady Fan._ O Confidence! What, carry their Fellows to their own House? Madam. _C'est que le Mari n'y est pas._ _Lady Fan._ No; so I believe, truly. But he shall be there, and quickly too, if I can find him out. Well, 'tis a prodigious thing, to see when Men and Women get together, how they fortify one another in their Impudence. But if that drunken Fool, her Husband, he to be found in e'er a Tavern in Town, I'll send him amongst 'em: I'll spoil their sport. Madam. _En verité, Madame, ce seroit domage._ _Lady Fan._ 'Tis in vain to oppose it, _Madamoiselle_; therefore never go about it. For I am the steadiest Creature in the World--when I have determin'd to do Mischief. So, come along. [_Exeunt._ +SCENE+, _Sir ~John Brute~'s House_. _Enter ~Constant~, ~Heartfree~, Lady ~Brute~, ~Belinda~, and ~Lovewell~._ _Lady Brute._ But are you sure you don't mistake, _Lovewell_? _Lov._ Madam, I saw 'em all go into the Tavern together, and my Master was so drunk he cou'd scarce stand. _Lady Brute._ Then, Gentlemen, I believe we may venture to let you stay, and play at Cards with us, an Hour or two: For they'll scarce part till Morning. _Bel._ I think 'tis pity they should ever part. _Const._ The Company that's here, Madam. _Lady Brute._ Then, Sir, the Company that's here must remember to part itself in time. _Const._ Madam, we don't intend to forfeit your future Favours by an indiscreet Usage of this. The Moment you give us the Signal, we shan't fail to make our Retreat. _Lady Brute._ Upon those Conditions, then, let us sit down to Cards. _Enter ~Lovewell~._ _Lov._ O Lord, Madam, here's my Master just staggering in upon you; he has been quarrelsome yonder, and they have kick'd him out of the Company. _Lady Brute._ Into the Closet, Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake; I'll wheedle him to Bed, if possible. [_~Const.~ and ~Heart.~ run into the Closet._ _Enter Sir ~John~, all dirt and bloody._ _Lady Brute._ Ah----Ah----he's all over Blood! _Sir John._ What the plague does the Woman--squall for? Did you never see a Man in Pickle before? _Lady Brute._ Lord, where have you been? _Sir John._ I have been at----Cuffs. _Lady Brute._ I fear that is not all. I hope you are not wounded. _Sir John._ Sound as a Roach, Wife. _Lady Brute._ I'm mighty glad to hear it. _Sir John._ You know--I think you lye. _Lady Brute._ You do me wrong to think so. For Heaven's my Witness; I had rather see my own Blood trickle down, than yours. _Sir John._ Then will I be crucify'd. _Lady Brute._ 'Tis a hard Fate, I shou'd not be believ'd.